


How Shall We Sing the Lord's Song in a Strange Land?

by matriarchofmatrices



Series: Chronicles of Joshua Graham [1]
Category: Fallout - Fandom, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Independent New Vegas (Fallout), Post-Fallout: New Vegas, Post-Game(s), Slow Burn, two very angry people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-03-08 09:36:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13455495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matriarchofmatrices/pseuds/matriarchofmatrices
Summary: The infamous Courier Six revisits Zion with a proposal.





	1. Rise and Go Toward the South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens. Ecclesiastes 3:1 New International Version

Graham knew the Courier was a terrible person.

 

When she left Zion, he was relieved. He knew Courier Six’s reputation more than he had let on - even the happenings of the Mojave, far removed from Zion Canyon and New Canaan, were relayed to him through expansive networks of listening ears. At first, he was unimpressed. He’d been shot in the head once or twice himself. His assassins, too, thought they’d been rid of a nuisance, and like a poltergeist, he rose from the dead and exacted his revenge. But as the tales came in, some more or less credible, the legend of the Courier Six grew taller and taller. A woman who waltzed into the Strip like she owned the place, murdered House, Benny and the other casinos’ owners, then proceeded to gain control of vast swathes of the Mojave just using her silver tongue and a taped-together  caravan shotgun. She was known as greedy and wrathful, but was loved by settlements and tribes for her ability and willingness to take any job for the right amount of caps.

 

When Joshua saw an NCR veteran in full riot gear and duster enter his cave, he knew by the iconic Pip-Boy and the shotgun in her hand, held loosely at her side, it was the Courier. He was idly filling a magazine with bullets when she and Follows-Chalk walked in.

 

She was vehemently opposed to helping Daniel and the tribals. There were no caps involved, obviously, only her freedom from Zion and potentially her life. Joshua only managed to convince her to assist his tribe by spurning her eagerness for revenge, encouraging her to punish the White Legs for attacking her caravan. She left shortly after slaughtering them all with unnerving delight. Something about blowing heads apart with her crude shotgun at melee distance put a bloody smile on the strange woman’s face. She reminded him of himself, and that bothered him. He was relieved to see her go after her business was concluded. It gave him both peace of mind and a degree of his long-since lost curiosity about the Mojave’s fate.

 

So he was less than pleased to see her bloodstained riot gear and dirty, burnt duster once again seven months later against the copper vistas and walls of his canyon. He didn’t know why, when she had been so eager to abandon them before, that she would return to the same rock formations she’d thrown White Leg blood across. She had a swagger to her step, a coy coolness in the way she spoke to the Dead Horses, greeting them as if they’d not been apart for a day. Follows-Chalk led her again through Joshua’s cave, past which he was out on a secluded peak, overlooking south Zion.

 

“Joshua Graham.”

 

He turned.

 

“Courier Six.” 

 

“I captured Caesar.”

 

Joshua swallowed despite himself and glanced toward the sun. “So, it’s finally over.” He felt a sense of relief even as tension built in his chest.

 

“The Legion is collapsing in front of me. I had every commander executed and slave freed. What you helped build is coming crashing down.”

 

He let himself finally look Six in the eyes. They were deep brown, ringed with black, shrouded in dark lashes.

 

“And you came back to gloat? I’m thankful for the news.”

 

“I have a wasteland to govern that I now own. I have better things to do than gloat.” Joshua bristled with irritation. “I’m here to invite you to witness my success.”

 

“Why would I want to do that?”

 

“I know you, Joshua. You’re not the religious Mormon man you think you are. You relish in the suffering of others just like I do. Come and get your revenge on the man who turned you into a monster.”

 

The offer itself was tempting, but her words engendered a cool, steady anger in him. “Go home to your city of sin, Courier Six. I may have said you were welcome in Zion, but you are no longer.” 

 

She scowled and stepped closer to him, her eyes burning.

 

“I know how to fix you. Your skin.”

He frowned.

“Why would  _ you _ want to help someone else? I have no caps.”

 

“Because you know how to lead.” Her voice lowered. “I ...need your help. I killed House and none of my companions are leaders. You’re the only man I know with experience.”

 

“I led a military, not a city.”

 

“It’s a start.” She began to sound desperate. “Listen, do you want to put a bullet through Caesar’s head or not? He’s the only guy with an Auto-Doc this far from Big MT, and my transportalponder only takes me.”

 

Joshua was a little off-put by the confusing addition to the proposal, but remained intrigued despite himself.

 

“My Dead Horses,” was his weak response.

 

“They don’t need you anymore, Graham. You’re holding them back. The Mojave needs you more than they do. Zion is… beautiful,” she admitted with a sigh, “but you don’t want to live in a goddamn cave the rest of your life. Come to the Lucky 38 with me.”

 

Joshua sighed and stiffly folded his arms. His shirt pulled taut around his upper back, digging into his searing flesh. 

 

“And if I do?”

 

“I’ll march Caesar up to your feet and make him grovel. Then, you may do what you like, in front of his Legates and those Frumentarii that I haven’t killed yet, at the steps of the Lucky 38. I’ll take you to the remains of the Fort that my Securitrons have annexed, and the Auto-Doc there will do what it can. I’ve already outfitted it with facial reconstruction and grafting modules. After that, you repay me by teaching me how to lead. I will then consider our business concluded.”

 

“How long ago did you take the Dam?”

 

“Two weeks. I’ve been travelling for one.”

 

“You’ve prepared for this long in advance,” he noted. 

 

“I will stay for tonight. We leave come sunrise.”

 

He didn’t remember agreeing to this arrangement, but he supposed he would. His hunger for revenge bested him once again. A final conclusion with his past may finally put his troubled spirit to rest, and he could return to Zion unhaunted. 

 

When he tried to sleep that night, his skin scratched and was rubbed raw by his bandages. Despite its ability to keep him righteous, his pain was unbearable. He read Scripture to ease his mind and body, and turned over and tossed until the morning.


	2. Fallen is Babylon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."  
> Romans 8:18 New International Version

Follows-Chalk led the pair out of the canyon. The thin sheen of sweat on his bronze skin gleamed in the hazy pink light of sunrise, and his cheery voice eased the tension in the air between Joshua and the Courier. They moved up a steep hill, their tribal guide wearing little while the two behind him were weighed down with armor, ammo, and supplies for the week-long journey ahead of them.

 

“We’ll all miss you, Joshua,” he said as they stepped over a tree root, dry and shriveled.

 

“‘Weep not for me; weep for yourselves’.” He was concerned Daniel would lead them astray in his absence, and silently prayed for their strength.

 

“What is it you keep talking about, anyway?” Courier Six interrupted, gratingly.

 

“Scripture. The Bible and the Book of Mormon.”

 

“Chief reads it to us a lot.”

 

“You keep quoting that old book? That’s where you get the creepy lines from?”

 

Joshua growled low in his throat and gave a grunt in reply. Courier Six quieted once more, but eyed him as they walked. He bristled from her stare.

 

By midday, they were far enough away from Zion that they couldn’t see the flag of the ranger station at the highest point. The sun shone down into the canyon, casting short shadows onto the pale grass and wildflowers growing along the edges and peaks of the canyon walls, bathing the red and yellow rocks in an orange heat. Scorpions and snakes would have come out to bask by then, he thought, with perhaps a twinge of a feeling of loss, as though he’d never see his beautiful home again. He was determined to return a changed, new man, to appreciate God’s gorgeous Earth in Zion properly. That was the only reason he’d follow the damn Courier.

 

Follows-Chalk turned and smiled at him.

 

“Goodbye, chief. We’ll wait for you. I’ll keep an eye out.”

 

“‘Stand on guard’,” he quoted, “‘stand firm in the faith. Be courageous. Be strong’.”

 

“Safe trip, Six!”

 

“Goodbye, Chalk.”

 

The pair trudged on through the orange dirt, kicking up billows of sand and dust behind them. The sun burned his eyes, the only sensitive part of his body left.

 

“The Colorado is four days out. The Auto-Doc is still at the Fort. Then, after you recover, two days to Vegas. Though, I’ll make stops along the way to build your reputation with the locals.”

 

“A good plan,” he stated simply, quiet.

 

=

 

They were silent much of the journey. Occasionally the Courier would ask questions, often while eating their scant meals, about such things as his past with Edward and why he left New Canaan.

 

Her interest in his life bothered him - mostly because he didn’t understand why she had it. She was not the curious type. She would offer brief stories about herself, but he didn’t quite care, except when it involved the woman’s weaknesses. He could manipulate those, if needed. He found she had claustrophobia and was slightly paranoid, stemming from assassination attempts on her and her companion’s lives even in private moments. He sympathized to a certain degree with that, and told her honestly that he would keep a watch while she slept in order to ease her mind and gain some trust.

 

By the time they reached the Colorado, they were both exhausted and in need of fresh water. While the Courier filled their canteens, Joshua sat on a smoothed-over rock and gave his legs much-needed rest. He slipped his feet out of his snakeskin boots, revealing the thick wadded bandage surrounding them. The skin on his feet was not burnt too badly, but long days of walking made it rub raw.

 

“How far are we?”

 

She checked her Pip-Boy, which hummed a quiet tune.

 

“20 miles upriver from the Fort. We’ll be there by tomorrow.”

 

Joshua swallowed. Now that the reality of being healed was so close, literally just over the horizon, he was starting to feel hesitant. He relied on his scars to remind him of his sin. He feared if he lost the pain, he’d lose his righteousness as well - though truly, he supposed, he feared that if he looked the way he had as the Malpais Legate, he’d turn into him once more.

 

The Courier sat down beside him and gave a long, indulgent yawn. She rubbed dirt from her eyes, resting her elbows on her knees and her cheeks in her palms. She had skin the color of faded old book pages, or tea that’s steeped too long, dappled with brown flecks and dark freckles, engraved with small scars. A deep gouge crossed her left temple and cut across her scalp where she’d been shot. He could only see her fingers, forearms and face, but he supposed there were more scars and old bullet holes on the rest of her.

 

“I’m surprised you came with me, to be honest.”

 

He looked over at her.

 

“I thought you were content with your fucked skin and your war-tribe,” she said. “I know I met you before, with the Happy Trails caravan, but I didn’t believe you were much different from the legends. Still don’t, I guess.”

 

She nudged a stone with her boot.

 

“What do you think I am?”

 

“A man who has a fancy faith and all that, but doesn’t see his own hypocrisy. You’re still who you used to be. You manipulate, you lust for power, and you slaughter. That’s what I knew about the Malpais Legate, and that’s what I know of Joshua Graham.”

 

He grunted. “From all I’ve heard and seen of you, Courier Six, you do the same. Do not forget how you crushed the White Legs.”

 

“I’ve got no God watching my back. I make peace with my own evil, so I don’t fear it.”

 

She leaned her head back and poured water into her mouth before thrusting the canteen out to Joshua. He pulled down the bandages around his lips and took a few small sips, letting himself enjoy the way the cool water bathed his dry tongue and washed the dust from his throat, freeing up the sticky saliva to move about his mouth.

 

“Let’s get going,” he said finally, after another couple swigs of water.

 

=

 

They came upon the ruins of the Fort in the fading afternoon. It was in an impressive state of disarray, the tents tattered and the ground pocked and cratered from… bombs? Caesar’s tent seemed to be the only structure still standing, the walls having fallen over or been burnt. He’d heard of Securitrons before from Vulpes and other scouts, but had never seen one - three rolled about the perimeter of the Fort. Four surrounded Caesar’s tent. They were bigger than he’d imagined, broader, though at the same time, more cartoonish. The fact that so few were securing a point of this size was enough to intimidate him.

 

“Hello Madam Six,” the two at Caesar’s tent flap droned.

 

“Let us pass.”

 

They rolled away from the tent flap, and the Courier pulled it open. Joshua stayed back, uncertain.

 

Edward sat at his throne, looking thoroughly unimpressed with what he saw before him, his bald head glinting with the sliver of sun that made its way through the clouds. He was in slave rags, and he was alone, except for Lucius’ impaled head.

 

“Hello again, Caesar.”

 

“Courier.” He sounded like he could spit venom. He’d only heard that sort of hatred from Edward’s mouth when…

 

“I brought a friend for you,” she cooed.

 

Joshua took that as a cue to step out from behind the tent flap where he’d been peering in. He sucked in a breath as he laid eyes on Edward again after a year. The man who lit the match.

 

Edward sat up suddenly, pulling taut the chain connecting his explosive collar to the throne. He stared wide-eyed at Joshua, his jaw clenched with fury.

 

“I knew you lived,” he said eventually through grit teeth. “Even through all the Frumentarii.”

 

“This is the moment I’ve been saving you for, Caesar,” the Courier purred, seeming to thoroughly enjoy herself as she circled around to stand behind his throne, smiling at Joshua from over Edward’s shoulder.

 

“It’s time for your penitence, Edward Sallow. You turned me into this.” He found his hand pulling his .45 from its holster, needing no direction from his consciousness.

 

“You forget yourself, Joshua. You were mine from the beginning.”

 

Joshua’s eyes twitched. His finger coiled around the trigger of his pistol.

 

The Courier grinned up at him, her eyes wild.

 

He took aim, the barrel of his gun pointed at Edward’s forehead.

 

“God wouldn’t want this, now would he?” Edward leaned back slowly, composed, staring at the face of his own death.

 

_Forgive and you shall be forgiven._

 

“It’s over,” he muttered, and Joshua lowered his pistol.

 

“‘May the lord judge between you and me, and may the lord avenge me on you; but my hand shall not be against you.’”

 

The Courier stared at him, in shock. Angrily, she yelled his name, but Joshua’s ears were ringing. He turned and walked out of the tent.

 

Behind him, he heard Edward’s terrible, hysterical laughter, and then a shotgun blast.

 

It was over.


	3. Born of the Flesh is Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Therefore if anyone is in Christ he is a new creature; the old things have passed away, behold, new things are come. 2 Corinthians 5:17

Joshua laid naked in the Auto-Doc. His heart was pumping. As he closed his eyes, he felt a syringe inject him in the wrist, and he promptly fell into a deep sleep.

 

=

 

He awoke to a tingling sensation across his entire body. He felt his blood coursing through his arteries, veins and capillaries distinctly. He could feel his muscles and tendons twitching as he gained control over himself.

 

An arm of the Auto-Doc pulled a blanket over him and slowly sat him up as his head swam. His vision blurred, but he could make out the shape of a human - the Courier - entering Caesar’s bedroom, looking down at him.

 

“So this is what you looked like, huh?” She held up her Pip-Boy to his face, the screen shut off and reflective.

 

He gasped despite himself. He had  _ hair,  _ healthy and brown. His skin was pale, fair, smooth, not pink and puffy with heavy scar tissue. His brows were thick and set low over his eyes. He reached up to touch his face - he  _ felt _ his fingers touch his sensitive skin. His nerve endings were raw and new, not burned away and scarred over. He could feel his own pronounced cheekbones, the slight stubble around his jaw, his lips thin and warm.

 

“Yes,” he answered finally. He was staring at the man he used to be. He felt like the man he was when he left his family in New Canaan. Then, he felt like the Malpais Legate.

 

He glanced up at her.

 

“I don’t know if I should thank you.”

 

“Well, what’s done is done. Are you able to walk?”

 

He stood slowly, holding the blanket around his hips. He felt the rough, ancient carpet under his feet, the soles new and soft. He took a few steps to the bureau, eyeing himself in the glass doors. He wanted to feel like a new man, but he felt like a dead man who’d been revived. Lazarus.

 

“I left your clothes in the cabinet, boots under the nightstand. It’s been a few days since you went under, so I decided to wash them in the meantime.”

 

He noticed then that her face was clear and clean, dust and grime scrubbed out of her pores and folds. Her eyes looked brighter, her hair and skin healthier. He supposed he must look similar, having a fresh new face, an almost-normal body - he could still feel and see scars and stitches where skin grafts were completed. That made him suddenly wonder.

 

“Where did you get the new skin from?”

 

“Some pals of mine. The King. Cachino. Arcade, he’s a sweet guy. Follower of the Apocalypse.

 

He was reminded of Edward’s past with the Followers and grimaced slightly.

 

“I would’ve given you some from Boone, you know, make you less sunburn prone, but he hates me enough for throwin’ Oliver off the Dam.”

 

Joshua looked over his body and saw the patchwork of pale skin of different hues, stitched or cauterized together.

 

“They were pretty confused about why I wanted them to let the Auto-Doc here store their skin on ice,” she continued,”but I just told ‘em I was making an ultimate Frankenstein’s monster supermutant to be a better companion than all of them combined, and they shut up.”

 

Joshua shook his head at her, but snorted a little from the idea.

 

“Thank you,” he murmured, and she nodded and left to let him dress himself.

 

=

 

The morning sky was a beautiful lilac, painted with swaths of pink yellow-lined clouds and streaks of fuschia, sunlight cutting through the dawn and gently illuminating the wastes with pale grey light. 

 

Joshua had prayed that night as they walked across the Dam, and he prayed again as the sun rose. He knew he did the right thing, but it didn’t feel right. He had slept that night in the old barracks of the point forward camp where Legate Lanius had staged his attack on the Dam. Blood stained the walls, but the corpses had been cleared out, likely burned. The NCR never had offered his - their men a proper burial, as the Legion had no similar courtesy. Nobody who fought here won.

 

“Why did you do it?” She asked finally as they warmed a Salisbury Steak over a fire for breakfast.

 

“Spared Caesar?”

 

“He turned you into a monster.”

 

“Only mercy can save me from my past. Revenge saves no one.”

 

She stared at him. He poked the fire idly with a stick.

 

“You really have defied my expectations,” she sighed. “Well, maybe you can forgive him for what he did to you, but I can’t forgive him for what he did to my home. I killed him, and it felt great.”

 

“What’s done is done. Only God can erase sins.”

 

Joshua cut open the box with his knife, and steam rose up from the shelf-stable meat inside. He slid it out, holding the hot food in his palm, and he was amazed to feel the pain of heat burning skin. He hadn’t felt anything in his hands since the nerve endings were burned and scarred over.

 

“Graham? Your new skin. Be careful with it, you’re not getting any more.”

 

He looked over at her and dropped the sizzling meat onto a metal plate. They ate quietly together.

 

“What’s next?”

 

“We go west, then head north on the 15 to get to Freeside.”

 

“Boulder City’s west of here,” he murmured.

 

“Yes. It’s pretty much a dead settlement since Quarry Junction dried up. There’s a saloon and that’s it.”

 

“I want to see it.” 

 

“You sure?”

 

“Don’t ask me if I’m sure.” He frowned and looked at her pointedly. “If you want me to teach you anything, do not question me.”

 

She huffed and licked grease off her lips, standing and kicking dust into the fire. He left the remnants of his food for the nightstalkers and stood himself, rubbing his eyes. As he pulled his hands from his face, he looked at his palms - the fingertips reddened, the skin soft and smooth, barely wrinkled. Before the Grand Canyon, he’d had hard, calloused hands, rough and scratchy. He felt almost childlike now.

 

Courier Six led on through the winding, broken road between hills, expertly disarming or otherwise avoiding the land mines that littered the area. He found himself trusting her experience with this side of the Colorado to lead him on a safe path.

 

He let himself enjoy the sting of sand blowing against his raw, tissue-thin skin, the mild burning of the heat of the sun bearing down on his face. Feeling and sensation was so distant, before. Now it was close, constant. He experienced the world around him as though he were truly in it for the first time in… awhile.

 

He felt the breeze take his hair, run through it, brushing his scalp, and leave it unruly. 

 

They walked along in mutually comfortable silence, listening to nothing but the whipping of wind through dead, gnarled branches of mesquite and ocatillo plants and the quiet hum of her Pip-Boy’s radio station, crooning out Johnny Guitar and the soothing voice of Mr. New Vegas.


	4. Let the Day Perish on Which I Was Born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and I will remember my covenant... and never again shall the water become a flood to destroy all flesh. Genesis 9:15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather short chapter.

Joshua stopped at the sight of the tall concrete skeletons in the distance, rebar fingers reaching up to the sky. Life had not treated Boulder City kindly, between the nuclear war, resulting fallout, and the battle between two great armies that took place there. 

 

His hands clenched into tight fists, and he found his heart tightening in his chest. He swallowed as gunfire ripped past his ears, as limbs and blood flew through the air, mines and traps exploding into fiery balls.

 

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and startled out of his hallucination. The Courier stared at him, seeming unconcerned but wanting to encourage him forth.

 

He reluctantly moved further into the city. Approaching it from this side was new. He had never sent any units except scouts to Boulder, expecting to cross that bridge when he had the Dam. It was his most foolhardy moment to enter an unsecured location with regular infantry. 

 

“Never do what I did here,” he murmured. “Take this as your first lesson.”

 

“I don’t plan on conquering.”

 

“Don’t trust your anger. Don’t believe in your need for revenge. It will lead you astray. Trust God and your instincts.”

 

“Why did you do it?”

 

“I saw the opening, and like a mad dog, I chased the rabbit wherever it may have led me. I wanted to punish them all for defying my ability.” He found his nails digging into his palms, causing a satisfyingly mild pain. “I was fueled by the vigors of war.”

 

“Don’t be too proud. Don’t overstep your bounds.”

 

“Good,” he said softly, and turned away from the ruins of Boulder City after catching a glimpse of the NCR memorial to those lost there.

 

“Graham, we’re off to the Strip next. I need to make a stop at Camp McCarran and Cassidy Caravans before we get to Freeside.”

 

“Camp McCarran?”

 

“Don’t worry,” she said with a smirk, “they won’t shoot you. I own their asses.”

 

They doubled back and headed northwest, moving at a relatively quick pace. Joshua was feeling better since his surgery, with no sudden twitches in his muscles or sting in the skin around his stitches. They’d be taken out soon after they arrived at Vegas, the Courier had said. He was no longer in constant, dull, scratching agony. It was uncomfortable.

 

=

 

They came upon a camp at the top of an overpass. 

 

“The 188 Trading Post,” the Courier said, gesturing out to the ramshackle bar before quickening her step to close the distance.

 

They took seats on the stools there, creaking under their weight. 

 

“Hey, Courier. How can I treat ya?”

 

“Howdy, Michelle. Four shots whiskey.”

 

“Water,” Joshua requested.

 

“Make that three, then.”

 

The Courier reached for caps, but the woman refused adamantly.

 

“For clearin’ out those Legion bastards, anything you want’s on the house.”

 

Joshua swallowed, looking down at his soft, smooth hands as they laid on the counter of the bar. 

 

“So, who’s - “

 

“Joshua,” he answered quickly.

 

“Nice t’meet you, Joshua. Josh?”

 

“Joshua.”

 

“Right. I’m Michelle Kerr, run this place with my pa Samuel.”

 

“It’s…” He paused to think of a proper adjective. “Nice.”

 

The Courier was shooting whiskey silently, toying with her Pip-Boy in between shots. 

 

“I met Veronica here, y’know,” she interjected, a lilt in her voice. “Real nice gal. Awesome power fist. I watched her punch a guy’s head straight off his body. It was great.”

 

Joshua cleared his throat and took a sip of water.

 

“So, where you from?”

 

“He’s from Utah,” the Courier said. Leave it at that, he supposed.

 

Michelle turned around to sort through her bottles and glasses, wiping dust off the glass. The Mojave sang with the rousing of mutated animals, radscorpions and bloatflies buzzing in their far-off dens in the sand. Joshua looked out on the wasteland, and as the sun fell, sinking low beneath the sky, he saw New Vegas for the jewel it was. A shining remnant of the past, a gleaming, perfect example of the gluttony and lasciviousness that ended the world.

 

Rainbow lights flew upward, casting the rest of the wasteland in shadow. He could see the broken highway bridges that fed into the city’s remnants, and the endless sand surrounding them. Dust was kicked up by lazy winds, pulling sand up into the air and across the desert to blow into dunes and crevices in craggy rock. He was reminded of the utter uselessness of the bitter land itself, except for the fact that it was graced with Hoover Dam. The Legion had cared only to turn New Vegas into its capital, powered by the Dam, changed completely from a city of vice to a seat of ultimate empirical power. Joshua had hoped that Edward would use the Dam to develop a real civilization - something more than a war machine. The appearance of the NCR only fuelled Caesar’s fire. 

 

“Courier?”

 

“Call me - call me Six, or Sixer, Gra- Joshy. I’m Six to my frien’s.”

 

He frowned slightly, realizing she was under the influence. He was not inclined to call her Six.

 

“Courier,” he repeated, “I wanted to know what the NCR planned to do with New Vegas.”

 

“Well, fuckin’... annex it, for one,” she muttered, lifting her shot glass. She tapped the rim and Michelle dutifully filled it. “They were gonna shut House down, arrest all the owners they didn’t like and put in some wealthy businessmen from back west or somethin’.” She shot her whiskey. “Use it for the caps, but put no attention nor soldiers to it. Woulda fell in a year.”

 

“How do you know?” He asked patiently.

 

“Because the NCR thought I was with them. They don- didn’t realize I work for nobody but myself. I tricked ‘em, see, into thinking me fighting the Legion meant we were allies. But the enemy of my enemy still my enemy, like.” 

 

“Maybe you oughta hit the hay, ma’am,” Michelle spoke up.

 

“I’m fine. Fine.”

 

“Courier, rest.”

 

She glared at him with a look reserved for deathclaws, but he remained unphased. She eventually groaned and stood, stumbling over and slumping onto a bedroll lying on the asphalt. Strangely, her obedience… pleased him. He swallowed - it was a memory of the Legate, who loved to be obeyed, and just a memory, nothing more.

 

He laid in an old plastic lawn chair, pistol in hand, protecting the 188 through the night. For as long as he would follow the Courier, he would stay true to his word and keep her safe.

 

As he raised his pistol and, pretending it was a sniper rifle, imagined shooting men far-off in the distance, he considered returning home to Zion. He knew the way back, despite not having a map or a Pip-Boy. He felt no commitment to this ‘deal' that the Courier had arranged, except the fact that he’d agreed to it. She could keep him around as long as she wanted, ‘teaching' her to lead. He wondered if she wanted to learn at all, or if she planned on letting Joshua take over New Vegas and turn it into a military force, then claim the resulting power for herself. Perhaps he followed her just to try and understand her intentions.

He noticed that as he pretended to snipe moving shadows, he kept seeing himself in the imaginary scope. 

 

He fell asleep just as dawn came.


	5. The Love of God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood” (Revelation 1:5).

 

Camp McCarran was in the process of being cleared out when Joshua and the Courier arrived at midday. He didn’t like the thought of entering a place swarming with NCR rangers. He offered to wait outside, but she refused. Fiends, she said. 

 

The guards reluctantly waved her past, and paid little attention to him - recruits. Young. Untainted by the memories of his time as Legate.

 

The First Recon sharpshooters were the first to approach.

 

A woman with short hair under her red beret growled, “Is that the goddamn Malpais Legate?”

 

“No,” the Courier answered simply, a glint in her eye.

 

“I’ve had him in my sights enough times to know his fuckin’ face, alright, Six? What is he doing here?”

 

“Don’t forget who you’re talking to, Betsy,” she spit. “This is my companion, Joshua Graham. You will show him respect.”

 

She glared at the Courier, furious, and turned away to her group of snipers, talking in a hushed tone. They stared at him as he passed, following the Courier into the airport.

 

“General Hsu,” she greeted as they entered the terminal building.

 

“Madam courier.” He nodded. “Who is this?”

 

She ignored his question. “How are preparations going?”

 

“We’ll be gone by this time next week. Trucks are loaded. Roads clear.”

 

“I expect the Mojave Outpost will be opening its gates soon, then.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Excellent. Caravans will finally be moving in and out.”

 

“Madam courier, if I might ask you something? How do you intend to protect your trade routes?”

 

“Better than you all have,” she retorted. “With Securitrons and hired mercenary patrols.”

 

Joshua could see the flaw in that plan, but decided he’d tell her in private.

 

“Well, it was good seeing you, Courier.” Hsu stared at Joshua, recognition in his deep brown eyes.

 

She turned heel and left, seeming satisfied with the airport’s state of mid-relocation disarray. Being this thick in NCR infantry and veterans, he felt a strangely conspicuous target on his back. He was glad to leave, when they did.

 

=

 

Freeside had remarkably less tension in the air than Camp McCarran did. Poverty was apparent, but not rampant. 

 

“This place was a shithole,” the Courier started. “I’ve been working with the Followers to clean up the place, create some jobs, and I personally executed all the drug dealers, so it’s a lot better than it was three months ago.”

 

A lanky, sweating man ran up to them, plasma pistol bouncing off his hip. He was in Follower attire, with a pair of glasses. 

 

“Hey, Six. We missed you out here. Is this…?”

 

“Sure is, Arcade. Your donor recipient.”

 

Joshua glanced at Arcade with slight discomfort. He didn’t look much like Edward Sallow, but for the blond hair and pronounced cheekbones, and the pale skin and the narrow, intelligent eyes. In fact, he looked disturbingly like Edward. He heard the bang of a shotgun in the back of his mind.

 

“Hello,” he said eventually. “I’m... Joshua.”

 

“I know who you are,” he said as though Joshua’s name was tattooed on his forehead. “I’m Arcade Gannon. So, did Caesar beg before you killed him?”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

The Courier looked at him, then apologetically at Arcade. “I had to. Graham’s a better person now, I guess,” she added with some remorse and a hint of venom. “I’ll have to execute the others myself.”

 

Arcade sighed. “You know how I feel about that.”

 

“Julie needs you right now, Arcade. Go.” She added, more softly, “It’s good to see you again.”

 

The pair continued on past Freeside. She pointed out the Atomic Wrangler, the Silver Rush, and the new workshops, homes and stores being opened in once desolate buildings. The sun began to set as they walked, sky darkening to a purple haze of twilight.

 

The Securitrons greeted the Courier with a prompt ‘madam Six’ and opened the gate to the Strip for her. As soon as it parted, Joshua was assaulted by loud music and colorful lights. The casinos blared the radio from outdoor speakers, turning on their spotlights to try and brazenly outcompete the stars that were just now beginning to show. Gamblers stumbled along, in and out of doors, moving past the two. A prostitute danced suggestively outside of the red lit building, signed with GOMORRAH. He felt an uncomfortable tension in his muscles and strain in his eyes, and moved his gaze to the dark, broken asphalt to avoid the sensory overload of the Strip. He longed to be back in the quiet Zion canyon, listening to crickets chirping rather than Dean Martin and drunken rambling.

 

“Here’s the Lucky 38. I’m planning on reopening it for the public, hire some locals from Westside.” She led him up the steps, pulling apart the huge doors to slip inside. It was dark and thankfully quiet. Old roulette tables and slot machines sat unused, a broken Securitron lying on the floor.

 

“Thought I told Yes-Man to get Victor out of here,” she muttered, kneeling by the mechanical carcass and setting a hand on its broken screen. “Miss you, pardner,” she whispered, as if trying to keep Joshua from overhearing.

 

She stood, after that, and led him to the elevator. After pressing a button, they arrived at a very luxurious suite - all in red and black, though faded. It had five rooms, from what he could tell upon immediately exiting the elevator.

 

“Lemme give you the tour. That’s my bedroom,” she said, pointing to the wide door just ahead. “But I’ve taken to sleeping in the penthouse, or just wherever, so you can have it, if you want - there’s the guest room, too.” 

  
She showed him to each of the five rooms, each one just as extravagant. The kitchen had a dining table the length of a Legion tent that could sleep 8 men. There were two bathtubs in the bathroom - not only excessive, but ostentatious. The opulence of Pre-War America amazed and disgusted him every time he saw an example of it. 

 

“The taps work, so feel free,” the Courier said with a hint of pride, and perhaps amusement. Joshua felt mildly self-conscious as he glimpsed his road-dirtied face and hair in a faded, dusty mirror. The fact he had hair again still surprised and pleased him.

 

“I.. think I’ll wash up,” he said a bit quieter than intended. He didn’t clean himself thoroughly very often, rarely getting a peaceful moment in Zion in which to unwrap his bandages and bathe. He would wash his hands, between his legs and his face whenever he got a chance, however.

 

He wondered suddenly if he would have to start shaving again.

 

“Won’t stop you. I’ll be up in the penthouse, check in on Yes-Man.” 

 

“Bye.” He said this strangely. It wasn’t often that he just said ‘goodbye', and he’d never said it to the Courier. Not when she left Zion, and recently he’d been travelling with her for a week now - more, if he’d been in the Auto-Doc for long - and they’d been together constantly, though mostly in silence. Now he was finally alone.

 

As Joshua undressed, he felt oddly vulnerable and weak. It was true that he was somewhat thinner, his muscles atrophied from poor food and long days of walking, but it was his bare skin that made him feel less... capable. He stood naked there, just standing, for several long moments, looking at himself in the mirror before turning on the bathtub’s faucet. He examined the raised scars where patches of pale skin were machined together. He had new little spots and freckles here and there that he hadn’t had before. His fingers touched them, counting them, vaguely remembering the birthmark he had on his left hip that was now gone. 

 

Something about his unfeeling scar tissue had acted as an armor to him, made him feel brazen and protected. Perhaps it was the constant reminder of his past sins that made him feel as though he were saved. Now that he was healed, he was just as vulnerable to temptation and sin as he was before. He didn’t look like he did during the Legion, not quite - the Legate had hard, rough hands, weary wrinkles in his face, a dreariness and extreme age in his eyes. He’d seen the steely misery in every reflection during those long years of command. Now, he was almost youthful. Smooth, new, awake. Uplifted. So perhaps God had stayed with him through the change, he thought, with a suddenly reassured smile. 

 

As the tub filled, he stepped into it. His feet felt hot water. Hot, not… burning. Hot in an almost comforting way. It amazed him - he’d only ever felt cool or sun-warmed water. At first he was planning on merely throwing the water over his body. He found himself eagerly sinking into the water, leaning back against the bathtub and resting his arms on the ceramic sides. This must be what Pre-War America was like. Having time and freedom to just relax. Soak in water. He guiltily indulged. 

 

He wanted to think about Zion and his tribals, but inevitably, it seemed, he was taken to New Canaan. Not its ruins, but its humble peak as a settlement. He thought of it as he had left it the first time. His large family waving at him, his father - finally proud of him. Being a missionary was all he had wanted. The first assignment to the Grand Canyon was everything he’d hoped for. He felt now as he did thirty, thirty-five years ago - was it really so long? - young and full of good intentions. They say the path to Hell is paved with good intentions, and to Hell he had blindly walked. 

 

He felt like that young man. He looked like him. He was at the same crossroads that that young man had been at - to follow God’s righteous path? Or to fall for his own lust for power down a path of sin? He had to choose carefully this time. He couldn’t go into that deep darkness again.

 

He supposed he just had to wait and see what that damned Courier’s plans were. 

 

After he was finished bathing, he stood and toweled himself off. He tied the towel around his waist, gathering up his clothes in a pile, and tossed them in a laundry basket in the master bedroom of the 38’s Presidential suite. He let himself collapse onto the bed with its blue velvet comforter. It was satisfyingly cool on his warmed skin. He shifted under the blankets, sheets soft and smooth, stretching out his limbs and loose joints with little care. Joshua resolved to figure out what the Courier wanted to do with him… as soon as he woke up in the morning.


	6. O for a Heart to Praise My God!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Charity shall cover the multitude of sins."  
> Bible, 1 Peter iv. 8.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle up this is a longer one

“Rise and shine, handsome!”

 

He groaned and curled deeper into his abyss of sheets.

 

He felt a hand shake his leg. He lashed out with a vicious kick, and he heard the Courier laugh and dance back away from his foot, held captive by the heavy velvet blanket.

 

He’d never slept so well in his life. He simply, selfishly didn’t want to leave the warm cocoon of smooth, clean textiles.

 

“Come on, we have work to do.”

 

“I’m..” His voice was raspy. “I need to dress.”

 

“Oh, like I’ve never seen a dick before? Alright, princess, suit yourself.”

 

The Courier left the room, and he closed his eyes, falling back asleep under his heavy blankets.

 

=

 

When he woke again, it was to a sudden feeling of weight on his legs. He started and sat up before falling back down onto the pillow with a soft thud.

 

“Morning, Graham.”

 

It was the Courier, of course, sitting on his shins. She was in some sort of black and white tuxedo, tailored to fit her figure, with a red bow tie. He groaned and sat up once more, propping himself up on his elbows, scarred chest bare.

 

“You can’t sleep in, pal. I need your help. You’re supposed to be helping me lead Vegas, not relaxing.”

 

He sighed heavily, his throat thick with viscous saliva.

 

“What do you want from me?”

 

“Some wisdom, grandpa.”

 

“Don’t drink cactus water.”

 

She huffed and rose from the bed, chastising him with a sidelong glare. He sat up, supporting himself with a hand stretched behind him.

 

“Tell me, really, courier - what do you want from me? I don’t know why you gave me this.” He gestured vaguely to the skin graft scars on his chest, then to the soft blankets surrounding him. “I don’t deserve this.” 

 

“I don’t think you do, either, but there’s a couple important things about you that keep me from putting you out of your damn misery. One, you know a lot - languages, tribes, religions, history. Two, you micromanaged the Legion as the only guy in there with half a brain between his ears. More than just leading its armies, you organized its trade routes and cities and economic structure. That’s what I need, an economic structure. With the NCR army retreating west I won’t have soldiers feeding my casinos and I need a steady supply of visitors keeping my hotels full or I’ll go belly-up. You’re gonna help me and Cass get people moving in and out of here from major settlements, and making caps flow all across the Mojave. You know, that Legate Lanius had a good idea of economics. He understood it when I told him how useless the Legion would be at trying to supply a territory as vast as the NCR, even with slaves. I need to make sure that as the NCR collapses and the ex-Legion tribes split off into separate factions, I get a steady influx of gamblers to line my people’s pockets. I know the what and why, but you know the how.”

 

Joshua pressed his fingers into his lids, rubbing them to move the moisture across his dry eyes. He was silent for a moment.

 

“Are you gonna help me or not? If you want to leave... I’ll let you.”

 

Eventually he nodded. “If only to ensure that there is some form of safety and prosperity somewhere in this Hell-ravaged wasteland, I will try.” He paused. “It may be the only way to atone.”

 

The Courier lit up visibly, and leaned to the side to give him a firm pat on the knee under the blanket. “Excellent. I’ll have Yes-Man print out some information about what we got for you to work with and you can look it over when you want.”

 

=

 

Joshua was not very accustomed to computer terminals, so the Courier supplied him with a fine smelling journal of off-white paper and freshly shaven pencils that he wrote his budget and trade route proposals in. She would read it over, transfer it to text on one of those infernal terminal contraptions and send it to the endlessly creepy robot on the giant monitor named ‘Yes-Man.’ She seemed pleased with his work, but he waited anxiously to see the results. He wanted to know that what he was doing was improving the waste. For once, that he was really helping.

 

He was reading a pre-War book, sitting on the steps of the Lucky 38 in the early morning sun. The morning was his favorite time, when the sand was cool and the air was just beginning to warm from the sun that cast long, hazy shadows. He heard footsteps clicking on the stairs behind him.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Courier.”

 

“Call me Six, already, won’t you? Really. It’s a lot less syllables.” 

She sat next to him and folded her arms on her lap, hunched over and eyeing the cracked pavement across which weeds rambled. It was too early for the gamblers to be out, the prostitutes or the vendors. He noticed she was in her NCR Ranger veteran armor, helmet at her hip.

 

“What are you reading?”

 

He turned the book over to the cover, hand tucked between the pages to act as a bookmark. “Hm. ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray.’”

 

“Yawn. Come on, let’s do something interesting.” She stood, and he followed suit, leaving the book on the step. “I’ve been in the 38 too long.”

 

It was true that they hadn’t left Vegas in at least a week. Joshua wouldn’t say it, but the lights and noise and lack of vegetation was draining and tiresome. His heart yearned for the peace of God’s tranquil Zion.

 

He glanced behind him at the imposing red and black doors of the Lucky 38, and started down the stairs behind Six. Her cyberdog, Rex, that she had introduced him to followed along obediently, its brain case glinting in the sun and its servos grinding as it ran alongside. They left the Strip, then Freeside, then headed northeast, following a marker on Six’s Pip-Boy. 

 

They walked in quiet solitude, each with eyes dimly following the cyberdog as it sniffed out rocks and cacti. Joshua was fond of dogs, he supposed, but had never had one as a young man and knew them only as tools to be used for scouting or hunting in the Legion. Six seemed strangely affectionate towards it, rubbing its brain case and behind its ears often, throwing sticks or rusted, flattened soda cans for it to run after. It was amusing, if nothing else.

 

In midday, when the sun was at its apex, hanging menacingly in the bleak, cloudless sky, Joshua, Six and Rex settled under the bony remains of a mesquite tree to wait out the heat. They swallowed and then crushed Pre-War cans of lukewarm baked beans. Joshua wondered briefly what Rex even ate. Fusion cells, maybe.

 

“Graham?”

 

“If I’m to call you Six, you may call me Joshua. Though it is more syllables.”

 

“Look at me, first name basis already. I’m on a roll.”

 

“Hmph,” he chuffed, slightly amused, “it’s only been several weeks.”

 

Six was quiet for a while, and Joshua began to feel content with the silence between them, broken only by the incessant hum of insects and the faint droning of Rex’s mechanical parts. He enjoyed silence, when it shrouded him in peace, when it left him alone with his thoughts; he hated silence when it hung heavy in the air between him and another, oppressively shutting out attempts at conversation, making him feel bare and vulnerable and stripped down by the other’s judgement. He hated it most of all when someone would not speak to him. Whether it be his siblings, Edward, or Daniel, he couldn’t stand to be purposefully ignored, rejected without word. Six talked just enough to allow him to speak when he wished and be silent just the same.

 

Joshua finally decided to ask the question that had been irritating him, like prickers on his skin.

 

“Why did you heal me?”

 

“Well, I had to get you to help me somehow.”

 

“I didn’t come with you for the promise of being healed. I almost regret letting you. It was the potential to do some good, to actively right my wrongs through you that made me come with you.

 

Six seemed confused. “How am I helping you to do good?”

 

Joshua sighed and leaned back against the rough bark of the mesquite tree. “The Mojave had been my object of obsession for years, as soon as we knew of the Dam, of Vegas. I ravaged lands from the Rio Grande to the Colorado. I managed the network of slaves from the conquering of 83 tribes. I…” He paused for a moment. “I know that if I can help to heal the Mojave, I can move beyond the Colorado and heal also those places that Caesar and I destroyed.”

 

“Rather presumptuous of you to assume the Legion destroyed them.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“If I know anything, it’s that wastelanders are determined as Hell. The Legion might have killed them and ripped any culture and common decency from them, but now that that great bull is dead, they’ll rebuild. They’ll get back up and reform into tribes, new or old, just like the first survivors did after the bombs - and the Legion is nothing next to the bombs. Sorry if that hurts to hear.”

 

“No. It soothes me to think I may have not created such a beast as I thought I had.”

 

“You’re still a piece of shit.”

 

“Yes,” he muttered.

 

“Anyway, it’s cooling down,” she said, glancing at her Pip-Boy. “Let’s get goin’.”

 

“Where are we headed?”

 

“Little spot by Lake Mead. Callville Bay. It’s a favorite of mine, think you’ll like it.”

 

They stood, and soon they were maintaining a quick pace to keep up with the panting cyberdog that energetically sprinted down the interstate, metal claws clicking on centuries-old asphalt. Something about the dog was eerily familiar, but Joshua decided not to concern himself with it; most cyberdogs look alike. 

 

Around evening time, when the sun was an hour away from dipping beneath the mountains, they came upon it: a sort of metal hangar, filled with decaying boats, at the mouth of a boat launch. Cazador corpses were scattered across the area.

 

“Your handiwork, Six?”

 

She nodded and smiled to herself as they neared the boat storage hangar. There were signs of habitation: campfire, spent shotgun shells, a mattress. A workshop seemed to have been established inside the ruins of the building under a hanging yacht. A black, rusted motorcycle lay propped against the wall, tools surrounding it.

 

“It’s not the 38, but it’s mine. Well, also mine.”

 

She ducked in, and Joshua followed. Inside it was dim, lit only by the sun beaming through holes in the parachute or the wooden walls. By the large mattress, covered in old sheets, lay what looked like a saddle and horse tack and a weapons chest, plus a few ammo crates. 

 

“Feel free to stock up. I should have .45’s in there.”

 

As Joshua knelt by the ammo crates and sifted through shotgun shells looking for his preferred caliber, Six sat on the mattress and unlaced her boots. 

 

“What do you like about this place?” 

 

“The lake. Come on, kick off your shoes - let’s go swimming.”

 

“It’s not irradiated?”

 

“Mead is part of the Colorado. For whatever reason this water’s pure as vodka. Vegas gets water pumped from here.”

 

Joshua smiled. Zion had clean water, as well, and he enjoyed secluded bathing in the shallows. He fondly remembered the feeling of minnows nipping at his peeling scar tissue, and the satisfyingly painful rawness of his skin in places after he redressed. 

 

“Only problem is the mirelurks, but, uh, you know. I took care of a majority of ‘em. And Rex is here.”

 

They both turned to look outside the boat launch at the cyberdog, leaping with joy and playing in the gently lapping lakewater.

 

Six began removing the most cumbersome parts of her armor, piece by piece, until she was left in a ragged, sweat-stained tee and oversized men’s boxers in a green plaid print. Joshua examined her briefly; she had muscular arms with a definite tan line, hands and forearm much darker than her upper arm, cut off just above the elbow. Her legs hadn’t seen any sun at all, but weren’t quite pale. And she was covered in scars. Bullet holes, burn marks, laser burns, bites and abrasions littered her exposed skin, seeming as if they would be rough and calloused to the touch.

 

Joshua didn’t stare at her scars long, busying himself with undressing. He remained in his white New Canaan shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and briefs, glancing down briefly at his hairless pink legs and feeling embarrassment. 

 

Six snickered slightly to herself, though he did not know at what, and started off down to the water. Joshua followed, and soon they were standing hips-deep in cool, comfortable yet unfamiliar water. Rex swam alongside, darting this way and that, chasing insects. He felt the loose gravel under his soles and between the pads of his toes, floating and brushing his ankles when he kicked it up with a movement. Six was wading deeper until she was idling at the surface, then lifted onto her back to float, limbs outstretched, eyes squinting at the pink-orange sky as the sun began to set.

 

Joshua was brought back to a time long before Zion, or the Legion, or the Grand Canyon. Back to New Canaan, on the shores of the Great Salt Lake. It was a very unique experience, swimming in the saline waters of the lake; there was a constant, faint alkaline scent, and flies hovering over the shallows. Past them, though, it was very easy to float effortlessly, bobbing on the surface. He and his siblings, when they were younger, often roughhoused in that Great Salt Lake. He imagined it must be what swimming in the ocean was like. He could almost see his parents at the shoreline, watching, scrutinizing.

 

“Daydreaming, Joshua?”

 

“Reminiscing.”

 

“Oh, yeah - there’s a river or something by New Canaan, right?”

 

“A lake, larger than this one. You can’t drink from it, it’s very salty.”

 

“Huh.”

 

They floated in silence for awhile as the sky turned a dark blue, then grey, then black. Stars appeared, one by one, glinting. There was nothing quite like the open, cloudless night sky.

 

“Tell me about New Canaan, won’t you? I never got to see it.”

 

Joshua sighed and floated closer to Six, closing his eyes briefly as he recalled his early education. “It was built in the ruins of Ogden, in Utah. Our ancestors came from Vault 70, who established New Jerusalem in Salt Lake City. The Prophet Judah Black led us to Ogden in 2233 after attack from raiders.”

 

“But what was it like?”

 

“It was thriving, yet small. We taxed caravans that travelled the 15 and lived in relative peace and contentment. We used caps only to buy necessities and protection from raider gangs. There were acres of farm and pastureland, where we raised horses and brahmin.”

 

“You had horses?” She sounded incredulous.

 

“Mm. They were difficult to raise, as there were many stillbirths and foals died quickly from birth defects and severe mutations. Most of the ones that lived to adulthood had several extra limbs or were hairless or blind. You can still find herds of wild mustangs, but they’re rare. We gathered ours from an old Pre-War ranch.”

 

“Huh. Wow,” the courier said, in her infinite wisdom.

 

When they got out of the water, it was around 3 A.M., according to Six’s Pip-Boy. Joshua’s pale pink hands had wrinkled fingertips. He started a small fire out by the boat house, near a dilapidated truck, the bed of which Six hopped up into. Joshua warmed himself and dried his clothes by the fire, its heat fending off the encroaching coolness of the desert night. He found himself… rather content, as he stared into the licking flames, the heat on his skin making it crawl. He felt Six’s gaze on him, watching him. 

“Y’okay?” She asked, concerned.

 

“Fine.”

 

“What are you… uh… thinking about?”

 

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

 

After they’d both had enough of the heat, they smothered it with dust and sand and moved into the boat house. Six sat on the mattress, and patted the space beside her.

 

“Joshua? Would you read to me?”

 

He paused, then reached into his discarded vest to slide his small book of Scripture from a pocket. Six turned on her Pip-Boy light with a click and held it out to the pages that Joshua turned to.

 

Six sat there, leaning against Joshua’s side and propping her arm up on a knee, as Joshua read verses to her in the quiet boat house under the light of her Pip-Boy.

  
  



End file.
